


Talk.

by shadowkatja



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Angst, Gen, fem!Charles, female experience, main character is Charles, post 2021
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-13 19:35:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29781069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowkatja/pseuds/shadowkatja
Summary: Charlotte Leclerc is at FIA Prize Giving Ceremony and she thinks that she is so tired of all that shit.
Kudos: 23





	Talk.

**Author's Note:**

> I just thought about how it would be to be the one female driver in F1.  
> Maybe irl it would be better, who knows.  
> Maybe we will see it in a few years.  
> But I'm still completely mad about the official silence around the Mazepin case, so we are here :)

Charlotte Leclerc steps outside of a gorgeous hotel where the FIA Prize Giving Ceremony 2021 is taking place.

She is wearing a beautiful evening gown of scarlet silk. She would like this dress if it was just a picture of her wearing it. It's quite simple but with her dark hair, red lips, high-heels and tiny golden necklace she looks gorgeous. There is just one problem — she feels uncomfortable, naked under all those lights, in all these sights.

She thought she got used to it: attention that her appearance gets, events where no one cares how good she is as a racing driver. Bloody hell, even at the ceremony where they give awards to the best drivers no one had fucking cared that she is great in her Ferrari car, but they all saw a beautiful young lady that they are honoured to have in their fucking Championship.

She puts her trophy for the second place in FIA Formula One World Championship on a bench, takes off her classic pumps, puts them near the award and moves her toes. She thinks belatedly that her feet will be dirty and she won’t be able to wear her shoes again. Well, maybe she will go barefoot to her car and drive home. And sleep there for ages.

She recalls she drank champagne on the stage.

Fuck fuck fuck.

Charlotte puts her hands over her face. She is exhausted enough to start crying in a crowded place. That's why she ran to the garden. It's a bit cold here, but she needs to stay alone, calm down, put a smile on her face and come back. Just a few minutes.

Last year was the toughest one. She has always been a girl in this men's sport. Maybe in the W series, it wouldn't be so stressful but she had a mission to demonstrate that the fastest cars aren't driven by dicks as someone like Verstappen might think. And she proved it. 

She drove against the best drivers in the world and sometimes she had to drive against her team who didn't try to fuck up on purpose, but, you know, it's Ferrari. And she has done it. She isn't the winner, but she is reasonable enough to understand that she can't beat Lewis in Mercedes so the second place is a total win for her. And where is Verstappen? Yes, behind her. And it raises the wave of dark satisfaction in her soul.

But yes, the toughest. She can't count how many times she locked her room in the motorhome and cried. A lot.

Constant stress, expectations, pressure, fame, sleep deprivation. All of that made her year almost unbearable. And people around her were a part of it. Huge part.

She has never worn feminine clothes on race weekends. Even in carting. As much unisex and oversize as she is allowed to wear. She remembers how mad their promoting department was at the beginning of the season when she said that she isn't going to wear classical female slim t-shirts and polos anymore.

_Charlotte, you are the only woman among all the drivers in Formula 1 history. You are the first woman, you are successful. We need to use it. To show your femininity to show how fragile you are. For god’s sake, why do you try to play dick-measuring when you don't even have a dick?_

Blah blah blah.

Go and fuck yourselves, dears. Being feminine and fragile is the last thing she needs here. They will eat her up if she shows her weakness. She can’t allow a situation in which everyone might see she is broken.

They finally saw an equal rival in her. And wanted her not to be.

Building personal boundaries has never been easy for her. She became a leader because she is experienced enough, she is fast, and this car was built mostly for her driving style. Her team believes in her, she knows it. But it was time to stop being a silent cute comfortable little girl. She needed to do this in 2020, but she was so concentrated on her performance in the useless lawnmower that they had instead of a car, and Seb was with her. 

Her relationship with Seb was complicated. They had started with a careful fellow feeling, and Seb tried to make her first months with the team more comfortable, but suddenly their relationship turned into mutual hate and disrespect.

People were curious about what would happen next, and both of them got a fair share of hate. But then Ferrari signed Charlotte till 2024 and threw Seb out before the season had even started. Everyone thought that the Red team lost their last brain cell. Who in their clear mind would prefer her? Well, they agreed that she was promising but she was still young and female, to four-time World Champion. There were rumours. What did she do, whose dick did she suck? But paradoxically this decision saved their relationship and this was the best part of 2020.

Of course, Seb was mad at her when she did stupid moves. But he was the best teammate she could have — helpful, kinda parenting but he never crossed the line. 

She misses his advice a lot. She misses him.

Carlos...

Carlos was nice. Sometimes. When he didn't call her ‘cariño’ instead of her name which means rarely. When he didn't pretend to play the role of a patronizing figure. When he wasn't over-familiar and indulgent. When he didn't touch her too often and too intimate. 

People around her always said that he didn't mean anything offensive.

_Carlos is a man and you are a beautiful woman, you are teammates. Of course, he is quite generous with attention. What did you expect?_

Charlotte expected a teammate who was almost the same age as her, with whom she could have a bit of fun and relax. Maybe become buddies. Someone who would behave as her equal rather than patronize her.

She wrote messages to Lando that always include the same lane “take your fucking ex-teammate back or I'll kill him”. But it was just words. In real life, she clenched her teeth and put up with all of it trying to be polite and concentrate on her performance. 

She still is bad with her boundaries.

But when she looks deeper she understands that Carlos wasn’t the worst part of it. He is bearable. 

Yes, he touches her, but most of them touch her. Grabs her ass, hugs her. They grab each other asses too — it is the part of this fucking homoerotic game that every company of men she has ever seen in her life play. There is just one tiny thing — she is not a man and she can’t believe that they conveniently forget this fact. And they know that her laughing in front of cameras is fake. So they play on her nerves on purpose. 

With all these thoughts she hadn’t noticed that she has been shaking, maybe from cold, maybe from the disgust that overwhelmed her with the memories. Before the Russian Grand Prix, she had a meltdown when Mazepin answered the question at the press conference about the scandal he raised after last season and caressed her knee under the table and winked at her at the same time. She didn’t say anything. Just left. And she regrets it because she betrayed every harassment victim with her silence. She still isn’t sure that she would be able to deal with that if she had raised the topic as if she didn’t have enough problems to manage then.

Max Verstappen.

She thinks that were he just a person from another team, just a rival on a track she wouldn’t need to literally survive here.

Their relationship was the weirdest thing in her life. Max hated her for reasons known only to himself. They don’t have to love each other, they don’t need to be friends or even people who talk to each other. The best decision would be to ignore each others’ existence. It would be, but she feels his strong negative emotions when he stares at her for a long time, clenches his fists near her, opens his filthy mouth to say a new humiliating abomination to her; and she can’t keep calm. 

For her, it seems like he can’t stand the idea that she deserves her place in Formula 1. Like his small sexist brain can’t admit the possibility that a woman, or maybe just Charlotte herself, might be as good as he is. And it’s pure insanity because they started together in karting, and he had ages to get used to the fact that she is here and she is good.

So she answered. Every time.

She feels like a character in a teenage drama about school bullying, but they are not at school, they aren’t teenagers anymore, and sometimes she finds herself thinking that she should just shut up and break this cycle of mutual insults. But it wasn’t her who has started it, and she doesn’t want to be a good girl in case he won’t stop.

Even today.

Max grabbed her wrist when she was walking to the bathroom. It was so unpredictable — Max had never touched her. Not a single time at least this year, she couldn’t remember what was before. They didn’t shake hands, they didn’t hug, they didn’t push each other, there weren’t any accidental touches. There always had been a distance between them. And after that, he touched her naked arm when she is at the top of her vulnerability.

“Do you think you’ve won, you, little annoying ass?” he stepped coming closer.

On her heels, Charlotte was the same height as him. She saw his dilated pupils too close to her, felt the tightness of his fingers on her wrists and thought that she should be scared. But she wasn’t.

“Yes, that’s literally what I think,” she opened her mouth mechanically.

She caught signs of cameras around them and shook her head. How beautiful the news would be — the scandal between implacable rivals or what else those journalists can come up with. She could swear that it would be even better than drunk Kimi.

How strong her desire to curse at him or even punch him was. Her insatiable it would remain unrealised. 

He had made this damned evening worse. As he usually does.

“Let me go, Max. You’ve done enough.” She took her hand back as soon as she felt his fingers unclench and went away without any comments to the press.

No one followed her.

And now she is sitting in the cold garden buried deep in her thoughts.

She would be lying if she said that there was only misery last season.

There were her wins and every one of them was hard-earned.

A tiny smile crosses her face when she recalls that in Monaco, finally, she won her home race although it wasn’t an expected win. She should say a big “thank you” to Mick, who’s car debris punched Max's tire and created conditions for an accident between Max and Lewis to happen. She closes her eyes and hears the roaring crowd in Monza where she in her red car number sixteen made Tifosi the happiest people on Earth again.

There were friends.

Her childhood friends often visited Grand-Prix to support her. With Pierre who also had a tough season, they tried to be a shoulder to lean on and gave each other breath of fresh air. She also had some fun with the Twitch-Trio.

Unfortunately, all of these bright things don’t mitigate the damage she got. Now she doesn’t even feel that satisfaction that gave her power to come here. She is empty.

Maybe she really is so weak that she can’t survive in this sport long enough. Maybe Max was right and she occupies someone else’s place here. Maybe she should really go to the W series.

She is so done with the difficulties she needs to overcome. She is so fucking done. She proved that a woman can win races, manage g-forces and hard training. But she didn’t sign the contract to eat all this sexist shit again and again.

_It must be super exciting to be the only female driver in Formula 1. Probably all men help you, give you attention. You are so notable._

She would like to be much less notable, even invisible. She would like to put everyone in her shoes. Then she would look at this beautiful life they would live and laugh at. Maybe a bit hysterically.

She hears a cough behind her, and Lewis's voice asks, “Can I offer you a jacket?”

Charlotte shakes her head, “I'm okay, Lewis, thank you.”

“Can I sit here?” He makes a few steps.

“Yes, of course. This bench isn’t my property”, she puts on her classic pumps shamefacedly and hopes that her legs aren’t bedraggled.

She knows that she looks pitiful sitting here alone with the tinge of blue upon her arms refusing his jacket obstinately and pretending to be friendly.

“Listen, I’m sorry. I know you hate it when someone even thinks that you might be fragile, but I can’t look at you shaking”, Lewis flings his jacket that he was holding on her shoulders and sits near her.

“Shouldn’t I congratulate you personally?” Lewis looks at her trophy, “You’ve done a great job.”

Charlotte thinks that he chose the wrong time for congratulations. A week ago she would be happy to get some warm words from Lewis Hamilton himself. Compliments to her driving skills from the best one would boost her self-esteem. But now it doesn’t matter. And Lewis sees it on her face.

“You know, I understand your feelings, maybe more than anyone can understand them here. But you shouldn’t give up just because of assholes around you. Look at everything you’ve gone through. Charlotte, you are talented, you are unique. You are an inspiration for all small girls who have ever seen races…”

“I know, Lewis, I know,” she interrupts him, “but I can’t bear it anymore. When I try to talk about any behaviour that bothers me everyone is like ‘ _oh Charlotte everything is OK that's how the world works_.’ But if it’s true, why do I feel so wrong?”

“Because it’s not true. You should talk about it Charlotte, you should talk about it loudly if you want to be heard. It’s white men’s privilege — not to notice small unimportant things. But not ours. One day our whole life might turn into a small unimportant thing. You shouldn’t be just a silent pretty face. No offence to your achievements, but I guess you know how people see you. If you didn't, why would you sit here alone, right? You have influence. Talk. Yes, you will lose some people. But new will find you.”

“It’s easy to say…”, she starts but then sees Lewis’ laughing eyes and understands that he doesn’t deserve to listen to her complaints.

“I know it’s scary. But you don’t need to be alone. And you don’t need to sacrifice your life at the altar of fighting with discrimination or even racing, or you will burn out. Do you have something for yourself in your life? Something that relaxes you?”

“Piano.” She says softly and smiles, “I’m not a pro but I do love it. Probably even more than racing. It makes me calm.”

Lewis wouldn’t hear her answer if he sat a little further. He has heard and noticed how her eyes lit up when she was speaking, so a brilliant idea came to his mind. He gets up and gives her a hand, “Let’s go.”

“Where?” She isn’t sure she should go with him. The incident with Max was enough and if she comes back with Lewis it will raise a new stream of rumours. 

They both stand out but he is a synonym of modern Formula 1, and his words are much more valuable than her not only because he is an eight-time World Champion but also because he is a man who isn’t afraid to speak loudly.

She takes his hand.

She is still holding it when they enter the building and she closes her eyes under the bright light of crystal chandeliers and camera flashes. She feels others’ eyes drawn to their way through the banquet hall to the piano and it takes all her strength not to run away.

She takes off Lewis’ jacket and throws it on the nearest chair. Her arms are trembling when she sits at the piano. With the first contact of her fingers with keys, the calmness comes to her.

She sees Lewis’ smile in the corner of her eye and his dark-skinned fingers flying over the keys. She feels the warm body sitting on a piano bench next to her and thinks that maybe she shouldn’t reject his help.

At least while he asks for nothing in return.


End file.
